


Like a Statue in the Sky

by harioandlouigi



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Famous Louis, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Famous Harry, Pining, background ziam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harioandlouigi/pseuds/harioandlouigi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn’t in love with his popstar best friend, the way that Louis hasn’t received more awards than he could count. They don’t live together, and they certainly don’t kiss way too often for it to still be excusable. </p><p>Or an AU in which Louis is more than a little bit closeted and Harry is more than a little bit in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Statue in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [1D_Hiatus_Prompt_Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1D_Hiatus_Prompt_Meme) collection. 



> A big thank you to the brilliant mind behind the prompt. It was truly inspiring, and I hope you enjoy the story that was born from it.
> 
> The biggest thank you goes to my amazing beta, who's an absolute sweetheart and one of the most reliable people I have ever worked with. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and the characterization does not necessarily reflect my opinion of any of the boys. Also, this is long-haired Harry fic simply because that's what he looked like when I wrote it.

**_The present (Part I)_ **

 

 

 _I’m pathetic_ , Harry thinks, not for the first time, as he sets down the rocky road ice cream he’d been devouring before Louis was announced as the winner of the last, and most important, award of the night - Artist of the Year.

 

It’s the night of the Grammy’s, which means that all around the world millions of teenage girls can be found drooling over their screens and dreaming about the blue-eyed babies they’re _for sure_ going to have with popstar and heartthrob, Louis Tomlinson.

 

Well, teenage girls and Harry, of course. The main difference between them is that, unlike Harry, they don’t share a home with _The_ Louis Tomlinson, making his farfetched fantasies even creepier.

 

Harry’s excitement for his best friend’s win quickly dies down as he watches him kiss the beautiful woman sitting next to him. The role of Louis’ winter girlfriend is being played by Sara Sampaio this year, a Portuguese Victoria’s Secret model trying to make a name for herself in the American tabloids. Watching their lips lock shouldn’t disturb Harry this much though, as he’s widely aware of Louis’ complete disinterest in women, but he can’t help the illogical jealously that spreads through him.

 

Oh, the perks of being secretly in love with your very closeted (and very famous) best friend!

 

The singer practically sprints to the stage to accept his second award of the night, looking more like the six-year-old boy in the picture above the T.V. than the cool and mysterious persona he had been attempting to embody on the red carpet earlier.

 

Louis’ speech is short and sweet ( _just like Louis,_ Harry thinks dreamily), simply using those few minutes to thank the people he loves most in the world and who have always been there for him – his mother, all six of his siblings, and “Hazza and the rest of the Styles-Twist clan”. Louis never forgets to mention Harry in his speeches, but the curly-haired man still manages to get teary-eyed every single time somehow. The fact that Louis had never won a Grammy before tonight makes it even more significant and sweet.

 

Harry takes the end of Louis’ speech as his cue to gingerly take out the brand new Yves Saint Laurent suit hanging in his closet. Louis had asked Harry to accompany him to the Grammy’s when he realized he had an actual shot at taking an award home - “as my best friend, of course, not as, like, my date or something, obviously” - a proposition that had been accompanied by a very, very expensive suit.

 

The whole idea was shut down by Louis’ management team in a heartbeat - showing up with another man, even if they didn’t walk the red carpet together, would look “too gay” no matter how they spun it. (Never mind the fact that both men are actually _too gay_ …)

 

Harry sure as hell wasn’t about to miss out on the chance to wear a beautiful suit next to an even more beautiful man though, so he ended up deciding to still wear it to the after-party at Liam and Zayn’s L.A. mansion.

 

Ziam, as the couple had been tenderly dubbed by the press and their fans, are both gorgeous and incredibly successful – Liam being a renown singer and Zayn a highly requested model – and Harry often wonders how he has managed to make and maintain such close friendships with people who are idolized and admired by the entire World.

 

The Hollywood royal couple and Harry’s colleague, Niall, comprise his closest friendships - Louis is above and beyond that category, of course - a surprising mix of famous and anonymous, filthy rich and middle class, but all equally as loyal and caring.

 

To be honest, Harry often forgets that three-fourths of his closest friends are famous, only to be reminded when a teary-eyed fan asks for a photo or when they’re annoyingly and indiscreetly stared at whilst grabbing lunch.

 

The suit pants Louis bought him are a little too tight, especially in the crotch area, so it takes Harry a solid fifteen minutes just to put them on without wrinkling the expensive fabric. He may have pouted at Louis for ages for spending such a ridiculous amount of money on a suit for his nobody of a best friend, but he can certainly appreciate the quality and beauty of the cut and the fineness of the expensive fabric.

 

He tops it all off with his absolute favorite shoes, a flamboyant pair of golden YSL boots that he splurged on using the money from his first paycheck after his most recent promotion, the striking color contrasting nicely with the otherwise entirely black outfit.

 

There’s no denying that he looks quite handsome, and he’s sure that at any normal setting he’d be getting plenty of attention. This is an A-list celebrity party though, so the best he can wish for is to not look too out of place with his product-free, wild hair and bare skin.

 

Hopefully, everybody will already be tipsy enough when he gets there to not notice how his forehead is breaking out because of the L.A. heat or how he nicked himself shaving right on his jaw line. Twice.

 

Harry can’t help but always feel incredibly out of place when socializing with the rich and famous, regardless of how many VIP parties Louis has already taken him to. His best friend makes sure to tell him that he outshines even the most famous models every time he notices his discomfort though, making Harry’s heart skip a beat. It’s not true, of course – he may be considered as quite attractive in the “real world”, but he’s sure that he must look like an ugly duckling around all those professionally styled celebrities. Any compliment from his lifelong crush, even if small, is enough to make him flush and sigh dreamily like a cartoon character, though.

 

Harry’s phone starts ringing as he’s struggling to tame his unruly hair, the personalized ringtone providing the caller’s identity and making him smile like a dork. Louis had jokingly set up “Hello, I love you” by The Doors as his personalized ring tone a few years back, and Harry has kept it to this very day, even through his many phone upgrades.

 

“Congrats BooBear!” Harry yells as soon as he picks up the phone, a genuinely proud smile tugging at his lips despite his mocking tone.

 

Louis has received a shit ton of awards since the beginning of his career, especially given how fast his last album catapulted him to the top of the Billboard charts, but he had yet to receive a Grammy before tonight. Harry may be a complete outsider to the music business, but even he knows how coveted a Grammy award is, and Louis was awarded with _two_ tonight.

 

“Ugh, I win two goddamn Grammy’s in a _single_ night, and I still get treated like a 5-year-old by my best friend! How is that fair? What must I do to impress you, Styles? Huh? Win a grueling sword fight? Rescue a kitten from a tree? Bring you a pebble from Mars? Tell me, please, Sir Styles, I beg of you! Have mercy on this poor soul that bows at your freakishly enormous feet!”

 

The extent of Louis’ theatrical personality never ceases to amaze Harry, and he often wonders how someone this flamboyant can be described as “secretive” or “mysterious” by the tabloids.

 

It’s astonishing how wrong and twisted public perception of a celebrity can be, and Harry’s connection with the music business, even if only through Louis, has made him a lot less naive. He wouldn’t believe a single word written in a tabloid nowadays, and Louis’ money-hungry team has even made him skeptical when it comes to social media, as he knows that over half of the posts on his best friend’s twitter account are actually posted by his management team.

 

Sometimes he feels like Louis is treated like a puppet, a pretty face for the suits to show off and profit from, and there have been several occasions when he’s even regretted encouraging his best friend to follow his dream of becoming a full-time singer. Harry never feels that way for very long, though. Louis really is at his happiest when he’s on stage, and for every stalker or intrusive fan, there seem to be hundreds who genuinely admire him as an artist and love his music.  

 

“Are you sure you’re at the right ceremony, Lou? That was an Oscar worthy performance right there. You have missed your true calling, my dear. Though, if you really want to impress me, you should try taking out the trash occasionally. There’s nothing more impressive than a handsome man doing chores.” Harry jokes, fondness permeating his words. He gives Louis shit all the time for not helping enough around the house, but he secretly revels in taking care of him. He would never admit it, but every time the singer mockingly calls him his “good little housewife”, he gets ridiculously turned on.

 

“I’m not at the Grammy’s anymore, actually, hence why I was calling.” Louis answers, completely disregarding Harry’s comments on his inability to do chores, as per usual. “I’m, like, five minutes or so away from home.”

 

Harry furrows his brow in confusion. They were supposed to meet at Liam and Zayn’s house, so he doesn’t understand why Louis would be on his way home.

 

“Why? Are you not going to the after-party?” Harry asks mournfully. Without Louis by his side, he would feel too out of place to even show up, which is really disappointing. Frank fucking Ocean is going to be at this goddamn party, for Christ’s sake.

 

“I’m coming to pick you up, of course.” Louis explains in the characteristic “duh” tone that he only uses when he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of his sweet gestures.

 

And this is exactly the kind of attitude that pushed Harry down this rabbit hole. Louis isn’t perfect, he can be quite impulsive and immature, amongst many, many other flaws, but he really makes up for it by being genuinely and incredibly considerate. Louis is the type of guy who will make you laugh until your entire body aches, but will also take care of you when you’re sick. Harry has lost count of how many times Louis has driven to his lab in the peak of the insane L.A. traffic to bring him a brownie or some cookies because he was having a bad day. How could Harry not have fallen in love with this sweet, sweet man?

 

Harry tsks, “You didn’t have to do that, Lou, it’s a huge detour. I could have just driven there on my own, it’s no big deal.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. You could have totally driven there, but you’re not going to. Plus, nobody should have to show up to the most infamous Grammy’s after-party in a Mini fucking Cooper, Harry. Now, stop bitching and get your bony ass in this limo. We’re outside!”

 

Harry scrambles to pick up his phone and wallet, before practically running out of the house and into the limo Louis had rented for the night.

 

The singer is much more disheveled now in comparison to his picture perfect T.V. appearance, but Harry thinks he looks even more beautiful like this, relaxed and genuinely happy. The Dolce & Gabbana bow tie is gone, and his feathery hair has been tossed around into a mess, but the grin that Louis is sporting could light up the whole town. The thing about Louis is that he always looks unearthly gorgeous, even when he’s just gotten out of bed and his breath could kill a small child. Harry better be well compensated when he gets to heaven, because Lord only knows how he manages to deal with this much attractiveness every day and not go insane.

 

For all that Harry might mock Louis, he’s genuinely proud of how talented and wonderful his best friend is, and he tells him so as he fastens his seatbelt. The answering blush that spreads through Louis’ cheeks makes Harry feel inexplicably and illogically accomplished. His smugness backfires though, as he feels his own cheeks blush bright red when Louis tells him that he looks gorgeous tonight - “even more so than usual”.

 

It takes them over half an hour to get to Liam and Zayn’s house, but they spend that time wisely by mocking the assortment of over-the-top gowns worn at the ceremony. Harry’s still laughing like a deranged hyena when he steps out of the car, panicking as he trips and nearly face-plants onto the concrete, only to be saved by Louis’ arm around his waist. How fucking fitting – not only is Louis the best friend anyone could ever wish for _and_ People Magazine’s second most attractive man alive, but now he’s also literally saving Harry like some kind of knight in shining armor.

 

The atmosphere that greets them as soon as they step into the party is fueled with alcohol, laughter, and lust - a very dangerous mix for a young man in love with his best friend. It seems like that short period of time Louis spent picking Harry up was enough for all the other guests to get wasted.

 

The platonic duo wastes no time before catching up with the general level of drunkenness, drinking an appalling number of Jägermeister shots in a ridiculously small amount of time. Despite being taller and generally bulkier, Harry’s alcohol tolerance is pretty pathetic in comparison to Louis’, so whilst the singer is actually still able to maintain coherent and surprisingly philosophical conversations with a few other guests, Harry can only really gawk at his beautiful face and follow him around like a lost puppy at this point.

 

They chat for a while, and even have a dance-off with Liam and Zayn, the alcohol fueling the model into doing something he usually avoids like the plague, before settling in for their usual drunken activity.

 

You know that bullshit that everyone seems to believe about how two gay men can’t be friends for very long before having at least one accidental make-out session? Well, it’s not really bullshit in Louis and Harry’s case. Only it wasn’t a single drunken make-out session, as much as multiple inebriated make-out sessions. And the occasional sober face sucking as well.

 

In their defense, they have been friends literally their entire lives, so that’s a hell of a lot of years to make mistakes. Also, Louis can’t very well kiss anyone else considering that he’s still technically in the closet. Also, Harry gave Louis the chicken pox when they were two, so what’s a little spit compared to a highly contagious and uncomfortable disease? Also, Harry is in love with Louis, so he’s definitely not one to deny himself the pleasure of tasting his best friend’s lips whenever the opportunity arises. And the opportunity has definitely arisen now.

 

They seem to have had the sensibility to find a darker and somewhat more secluded corner, Harry’s anonymous body trapping Louis’ easily recognizable one against the wall, but they’re still lacking the common sense to realize that if one is hiding one’s sexuality, they should avoid playing tonsil tennis in a house full of people.

 

Louis doesn’t seem worried though, his small hands grabbing and pulling at Harry’s silk shirt while his tongue explores the taller man’s mouth with poorly concealed enthusiasm.

 

Usually around this stage either Harry or Louis would put an end to their mishappening, never allowing themselves to cross that feeble line between friendship and something more. A few kisses between best friends can be overlooked, but sex is a bit too significant to ignore, especially when one of the involved parties is harboring some very non-platonic feelings for the other.

 

Tonight though, fueled by a dangerous mix of alcohol and victory, love and lust, Harry seems to be unable to gather any form of self-control, letting Louis dictate the frantic pace of their interaction.

 

Harry lets his hands drift lower from where they’d been resting on the smaller man’s waist, greedily swallowing Louis’ high pitched moan when they finally reach his voluptuous ass.

 

The singer is becoming quite aggressive in his movements now, pulling Harry’s hair as he nibbles on the sensitive skin of his pale neck.

 

Harry is having more and more trouble trying to hide his arousal, his swollen cock visibly pressing against the fabric of his tailored pants. Louis isn’t faring much better though, his warm length trapped between both of their thighs, twitching beautifully in tune with every ass grope.

 

The singer lifts his head suddenly, his gaze locking on Harry’s face as if he’s calculating his next move.

 _This is it. Louis is gonna get cold feet and stop this madness,_ is the instant thought that runs through Harry’s mind, but then his best friend is tugging at his hand with a determined look on his face.

 

Louis guides him upstairs without a single word exchanged, steering them in the direction of what Harry knows is one of Liam and Zayn’s guest rooms, the same one where he’s had to sleep a few times after one too many cocktails.

 

The air around them becomes simultaneously quieter and more charged as they move further and further away from the party, and Harry can hardly believe this is actually happening.

 

He barely has enough time to close and lock the door before Louis’ body is trapping him against it, his lips finding the same spot on his neck that he’d been sucking on earlier. Harry’s certain that he’s going to have a dark mark on his skin for weeks, a visible reminder of Louis’ hunger for him, and that thought alone gets him harder than he’s ever been in his entire life.

 

He grabs Louis’ ass again, wondering how it’s even possible for it to be so firm, and yet so soft at the same time.

 

The smaller man’s lips suddenly detach from his neck, guiding Harry’s head down for a perfect wet, sloppy kiss.

 

There’s a sense of urgency in their movements, hands travelling up and down each other’s bodies in a desperate effort to explore as much as possible, almost as if they both fear that the other is inevitably going to put an end to this insanity.

 

Louis tugs on Harry’s blazer in an obvious attempt to prompt him to take it off, and the curly-haired man is nothing if not willing to please. The singer doesn’t seem satisfied enough with their progress though, as he grabs the hem of Harry’s shirt and tugs it off in one swift movement, the purposely-small amount of closed buttons providing no restriction whatsoever.

 

Louis aims for the taller man’s zipper next, clearly in a haste to get as much of his skin on display as possible. He’s still fully clothed though, which strikes Harry as simply outrageous.

 

Harry starts unbuttoning the other man’s shirt then, the whole process taking way too long due to how shaky his hands are, vibrating with both nerves and excitement. Louis gets frustrated with Harry’s unintentionally slow pace soon enough, forcing his own shirt open as if he’s a character in a cheesy adult movie, buttons flying off and hitting the ground around them.

 

The singer kicks his expensive shoes off next, before pushing his suit pants down to his ankles, putting what looks like miles of tanned skin on display for Harry to admire.

 

The green-eyed man is frozen against the door, his brain apparently unable to process the glorious image in front of him, causing his head to spin either from the alcohol or his desperate state of arousal. His bet is on a dangerous combination of both.

 

“What are you doing? Come here for fuck’s sake!”

 

It’s the first time that Louis has spoken since they started kissing downstairs, and Harry is in love with how much raspier and deeper and _oh so fucking hot_ his voice sounds. Seeing and hearing Louis this aroused has to be the biggest accomplishment of Harry’s life thus far, graduation be damned.

 

The curly-haired man takes two long strides to where Louis is standing, kissing him hungrily before picking him up and dropping him onto the bed in an uncharacteristic display of strength and manliness.

 

There’s a straining bulge pushing against the front of the singer’s black Calvin Klein boxer briefs, leaving no room for doubt as to whether or not he’s as into this as Harry is.

 

Harry’s mind is spinning so fast that he has to sit down to take off his golden boots, stripping his suit pants right after with total disregard for the expensive material. Yves Saint Laurent suit pants aren’t nearly as important as getting his lips back on Louis’ sweet, sweet skin.

 

Louis seems to have gotten tired of waiting for Harry to hurry the fuck up, as he has taken matters into his own hands. Literally. The waistband of his boxers has been pushed down just enough for his dick and balls to be released from the constricting fabric, his right hand slowly and unabashedly stroking his own length.

 

Louis’ gaze isn’t fixed on his own tantalizing actions though, but on Harry’s body, his blown pupils roaming up and down slowly, as if to create a perfect mental picture to last him forever.

 

Harry can’t even feel self-conscious about how intensely Louis is looking at him due to the hunger in his blue eyes, sliding onto the bed instead and immediately dragging the singer into a bruising and passionate kiss.

 

They’ve kissed so much during the past hour that Harry can’t even taste the alcohol on Louis’ tongue anymore, chasing that natural sweetness of his best friend’s mouth instead.

 

He maneuvers the singer until he’s completely lying down, Harry’s body looming over him possessively, his cross necklace resting on the concave surface of Louis’ collarbone.

 

Harry drags his lips over Louis’ torso, lingering on the singer’s nipples and making his back arch beautifully when he drags his teeth softly over them. He licks, sucks, and bites for what feels simultaneously like forever and not nearly enough time, before soothing the abused skin with soft kitten licks.

 

Louis is moaning steadily now as he watches Harry’s mouth move downwards, so beautifully lost in the green-eyed man’s ministrations that he doesn’t even seem aware of the wrecked, broken sounds that he’s making.

 

The smaller man is already squirming helplessly by the time Harry reaches the neatly trimmed coarse hair above his dick. Harry completely bypasses the singer’s stiffened cock though, sucking on the soft and virtually hairless skin of his inner thigh instead.

 

“What do you want, Lou?”

 

A visible shiver runs down Louis’ body as soon as the sound of Harry’s deep, rough voice reaches his ears, causing a self-satisfied smirk to make its way to the taller man’s puffy lips.

 

“Fuck me. Please. _Harry._ ”

 

And now Harry’s done for. The sound of Louis moaning his name, _begging_ to be fucked is sure to make an appearance every time he masturbates for, like, the rest of his fucking life. _Nothing_ will ever live up to this.

 

Harry strips Louis of his underwear, wasting no time before grabbing his lovely, stiff cock and licking a broad stripe from the base up to the head, sucking on the tip and coaxing out a drip of pre-cum.

 

The singer’s moans have grown even higher and whinier than before, and he occasionally even rasps out a “fuck” or “Harry” - the latter one never failing to make Harry’s dick twitch.

 

When Louis pulls on his long hair, Harry swears he sees God, Jesus, and, like, a hundred angels.

 

Harry reaches into the bedside table drawer in a practiced manner, searching for the lube and condoms instinctively, but he’s beyond surprised when he finds it completely empty. Right. This is not his room. Or his house, for that matter. Fuck. Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

 

Louis makes a whiny sound when his cock leaves Harry’s mouth with a loud pop, opening his eyes to look at his best friend with a mix of confusion and pure frustration.

 

“Um, you don’t happen to have some stuff on you, do you?” Harry asks awkwardly, trying to subtly ask his best friend if he just so happened to have left the house expecting to get laid.

 

Louis furrows his eyebrows for a second, clearly amiss as to what is going on, before understanding crosses his face. He rolls his eyes before speaking, frustration and sarcasm marking every word.

 

“What, in the pocket of the suit that I wore on the red carpet? No, _Harold_. As surprising as it may seem, I did not take a packet of lube to the goddamn Grammy’s.”

 

Louis’ tone resembles that of a frustrated parent, which is even more ironic considering that Harry’s right hand is still holding the base of his hardened cock.

 

Harry apologizes silently by sucking Louis’ entire length into his mouth and down his throat, giving the tip a sloppy kiss before getting up.

 

“Right. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” Harry says, not even bothering to put his pants back on before racing down the hall to Liam and Zayn’s room, hoping and praying that they’ve been dumb enough to leave the master bedroom door unlocked.

 

This is a total and complete invasion of privacy, not to mention a little fucked up in general, but it is also Harry’s one and only chance to fuck Louis, so Liam and Zayn are just going to have to deal with it.

 

He opens the drawer on the left side of the bed first, finding it completely empty except for two tubes of ChapStick and a ridiculous amount of hair ties. He tries the right bedside drawer next, hoping that Liam and Zayn are not the kind of paranoid people who feel the need to lock away any and all evidence of a healthy sex life.

 

They’re not.

 

Harry cringes as soon as he sees the nipple clamps, anal beads, and goddamn cock ring, but he does find a nearly empty bottle of lube (yuck! yuck! yuck!). He’s so going to hell for this.

 

There isn’t a single condom stashed in the drawer though, so Harry adds the fact that he now knows that Liam and Zayn do it bare to the list of fucked up things he never wanted to find out about his friends.

 

Harry races back to the guest room, hoping that this little intermission hasn’t killed the mood completely. He’s still rock hard, even after going through his friends’ sex toys, so, hopefully, Louis will also still be up for it as well. (Haha, get it? _Up_ for it. Oh God, now is not the time for stupid jokes. Focus, Styles.)

Louis jumps a little when Harry opens the door, before returning to tugging at his angry red cock. He briefly wonders if the singer has completely forgotten that they’re in a house full of people, as he clearly made no attempt at covering himself up during Harry’s absence, even though the door was unlocked and anyone could have walked in.

 

Harry’s voice is sheepish and careful when he talks, addressing Louis in the same tone as a kid who got caught stealing the last cookie, instead of a grown man who couldn’t find a goddamn condom.

 

“Okay, so, um, I found lube, but I couldn’t find any condoms. I mean, I’m, like, clean, so if you still want to do it, then, uh, yeah.”

 

God, he hasn’t been this awkward during sex since his first time. Oh, how he wishes the ground would just swallow him whole! After all the years that he’s spent dreaming about what having sex with Louis would be like, he can’t believe that everything is going so terribly wrong now that he’s finally gotten his chance.

 

“Oh, um, yeah, I’m, like, clean too, so I don’t mind, I guess.” Louis says, awkwardly looking at a vague region on Harry’s chest.

 

This is going great! The atmosphere in the room is so uncomfortable that Harry wants to shoot himself in the head for not carrying a packet of lube and a condom on him all the time.

 

Harry walks back to the bed awkwardly, sneaking a sly look at Louis’ fortunately still completely bare body – the singer’s not touching himself anymore though, much to his disappointment and frustration. Harry’s just ruined everything, hasn’t he? That’s just fucking _awesome_ , isn’t it?

 

Out of nowhere, Harry trips on one of his golden boots right before reaching the bed, causing him to completely lose his balance and face plant precisely in the space between Louis’ slightly spread thighs.

 

There’s a startled silence right after the thumping sound his head makes when it hits the mattress, followed by a bright, loud laugh.

 

When Harry finally dares raising his head from the mattress, his primary line of vision consists of Louis’ balls shaking with the strength of his cackles. Harry is giggling before he even realizes it, his face turning bright red, both with embarrassment and laughter.

 

“Oh my God, that was brilliant!” Louis says in between laughs, looking absolutely delighted with Harry’s innate inability to walk three feet without falling over.

 

Well, at least the tense atmosphere has definitely been broken, Louis looking way too amused with Harry’s complete lack of gracefulness to be uncomfortable.

 

Suddenly, and almost involuntarily, Harry takes advantage of the position that he’s currently in, sucking Louis’ left ball into his mouth before he even has time to decide against such a risky move, startling a strange sound out of his best friend’s mouth, halfway between a giggle and a moan.

 

“Yeah?” He asks, giving Louis an out just in case he doesn’t want to do this anymore, which would be really fucking understandable given the shit show Harry’s made them both suffer through.

 

“Yeah, fuck, _ye-ah_.” Louis’ voice cracks on the last word, so Harry takes it as an incentive to keep going.

 

He moves up Louis’ body to steal a kiss, missing the sweet, addictive taste of his lips already. What was intended to be a short kiss turns into a full-blown make-out, the singer’s mouth too intoxicating for Harry to even consider doing anything else.

 

Louis starts grinding up against his body soon enough, and Harry takes it as his as his cue to reach for the lube and, sadly, end their kiss.

 

He can feel Louis’ eyes on him as he rids himself of his underwear, making every inch of skin prickle with arousal. Harry has always been a fervent enthusiast of nudity, so it’s certainly not the first time that Louis has seen him completely bare, but there’s something about the hunger in his best mate’s eyes that makes this moment much more significant than all the other times before.

 

Harry reaches for the bottle of lube again and pours a generous amount onto three of his fingers, aware of the fact that it’s been awhile since the last time Louis had sex.

 

(Best friend privileges include being tortured with the details of Louis’ sex life, much to Harry’s dismay.)

 

Harry sucks on the tip of Louis’ cock as he draws a line down the singer’s taint, from his balls all the way down to his rim. He circles his hole a few times just to tease Louis, before finally adding just a bit more pressure. His finger goes in with almost no resistance, which strikes Harry as very odd, and he looks up at Louis instinctively, his brow furrowing in confusion.

 

He doesn’t even have to ask anything before Louis is explaining, “I, um, just did, you know, _this_ , a few hours ago.”

 

And there’s the green-eyed monster making an appearance once again, the shock of finding out that Louis has been recently fucked by someone else settling in like a fucking rock in his stomach.

 

Louis must instantly realize how raunchy his explanation sounded though, as he corrects himself awkwardly, his hands waving wildly with aborted gestures, “Not with, like, someone else. Just, you know, uh, by- by myself.”

 

Harry goes through an entire range of emotions in just a few seconds, his jealousy turning into relief, and the relief leading to a full-blown state of arousal as the mental picture of Louis fingering himself in their shared home appears in his mind, the singer whining desperately as he tries to hit his spot over and over again.

 

He starts moving the finger inside Louis almost unconsciously, the squelching sound filling the otherwise completely silent room.

 

Harry adds a second finger soon enough as per Louis’ request, and then a third, before he finally starts looking for that spot that is bound to drive his best friend insane. He knows he’s found it when Louis moans out a loud “fu-ck”, his back arching beautifully once again.

 

Harry’s addicted to the smaller man’s reactions now, so he keeps aiming at his prostate, alternating between light and hard touches to make the sensations more intense and pleasurable for Louis.

 

His gaze is so intensely fixed on the place where his fingers are entering Louis that he doesn’t even notice the small hand moving downwards until it’s grasping his arm tightly, fingernails digging into the sensitive skin of his inner wrist.

 

“St- Stop. Please. I’m gonna come before you’re even inside me otherwise.” Louis says, his voice shaky and high, and so damn sexy Harry needs to take a deep breath to stop himself from being the one who busts a nut prematurely.

 

Harry withdraws his fingers from inside the singer’s body regretfully, causing a pitiful little whimper to involuntarily climb its way out of Louis’ throat at the sudden emptiness.

 

The first contact between his lubed up hand and his neglected cock causes a loud grunt to fall from Harry’s plump lips, the simple pressure feeling like heaven after having been selfless for so long.

 

He looks down at Louis with the intention of asking what position he likes best, but the blue-eyed man has already made the answer obvious, as he’s clutching his thighs against his chest to expose his pretty pink hole, all stretched out and begging to be filled with Harry’s cock.

 

“Ready?” Harry asks, taking his dick into his right hand and lining it with Louis’ hole with poorly concealed awe and disbelief.

 

“Fuck yeah.” Louis sighs in what sounds like relief, looking absolutely wrecked already just from being fingered, his hair sweaty and cheeks beautifully flushed.

 

Harry pushes in slowly, groaning as he watches his length being engulfed by maddening heat, the feeling of his bare skin sliding against Louis’ walls beyond exquisite. He’s suddenly glad that the singer chose this position, as the look on his gorgeous face as he’s being filled to the brim by Harry’s cock is like a work of art.

 

Harry keeps his movements slow but steady until his balls finally press against Louis’ ass, bending down to kiss him soundly on the lips as an attempt to distract the smaller man from any pain or discomfort.

 

“Okay?” Harry asks without detaching his lips from Louis’ own, feeling this incredible connection just from covering the singer’s entire body with his own, not to mention how his cock is literally _inside_ the man that he’s been in love with since, like, forever.

 

“Yeah. Move. Please.”

 

Louis small hands release his own thighs, leaving his legs trapped between their torsos, and travel down the length of Harry’s back tenderly to come to rest on the upper part of his ass, pressing down as an encouragement for him to move.

 

Harry’s first thrust forces a loud moan out of Louis, a beautiful sound that echoes around the walls of the room. He keeps his initial thrusts just like that, slow and deep, his mouth greedily swallowing Louis’ breathy moans.

 

Harry finally moves his lips down to Louis’ neck when he starts increasing both the speed and the strength of his thrusts, abusing the soft skin there before soothing it with his tongue. He can’t help but wonder bitterly if everyone will think that that stupid model was the one who marked Louis up. Thankfully, the singer’s high-pitched moans keep him too focused in the present to properly delve into his unwarranted jealousy.

 

The sounds that they make compliment each other perfectly, Harry’s deep groans mixing beautifully with Louis’ high-pitched whimpers. It’s definitely unusual to have such a simple and unabashed sexual energy, and Harry blames their over twenty years of friendship for how easily they can read each other’s bodies.

 

He throws the singer’s tanned legs over his shoulders in a surprisingly graceful move, trying to hit his spot steadily with his thrusts, the bed hitting the wall with every attempt.

 

Louis looks like he’s _on fire_ when Harry’s cock hits his prostate dead on, a broken yell escaping his bruised lips as his back arches off the bed at an awkward angle.

 

Harry keeps aiming for the exact same spot with every thrust, making the singer squirm and moan loudly, his entire body trembling under the taller man’s ministrations.

 

There are too many beads of sweat running down his overheated skin, and his thighs are really beginning to burn, but Harry has never felt better in his entire life. No one has ever or will ever match up to Louis.

 

The actual physical pleasure blends exquisitely with the satisfaction of watching the man he loves being positively _wrecked_ by his cock, and Harry feels like he could honest to God _die_ right now.

 

His thrusts become more and more forceful as he gets closer and closer to his orgasm, the sinfully dirty sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room, only slightly muffled by Louis’ loud moans.

 

Harry could probably have guessed that his best friend would be incredibly loud when he’s being fucked, but he’s still startled by the unbelievably brash and fervent sounds that he makes after he’s reached for his thus far untouched length.

 

The speed at which Louis is tugging at his cock looks borderline painful, a blur of movement that Harry literally cannot take his eyes off.

 

The singer’s entire body is trembling, and Harry swears no one has ever looked this beautiful being fucked.

 

“Oh fu-ck, oh fuck, ah!”

 

Louis moans out a few more expletives before a loud “Ha-rry” falls out of his mouth as strings of white paint his tattooed torso, his orgasm looking almost painful in its intensity.

 

Harry fucks Louis through his orgasm, only needing a couple more thrusts before he’s coming himself, his eyes shut so tightly he doesn’t just see stars, he sees entire constellations.

 

Harry feels like he’s been coming forever when he’s finally able to think again. He doesn’t even remember falling forward, yet here he is, his head tucked against Louis’ bruised neck and his torso wet from their combined sweat and Louis’ cum.

 

It takes him a while, but he finally manages to move eventually, separating from a sleepy Louis who still looks like he’s on cloud nine, both men hissing from oversensitivity when Harry removes his cock from inside the singer.

 

Harry has no right to feel possessive, but sitting here watching his cum begin to drip out of Louis’ hole, he can’t help his brain from screaming _MineMineMine_.

 

He gets up to retrieve a towel from the bathroom to clean Louis up, making a mental note to bake Liam and Zayn a pie for debauching their guest room.

 

The singer isn’t asleep yet, his breathing still too erratic and body trembling slightly, but he looks like he’s pretty damn close, not even moving a single muscle when Harry cleans his belly and chest gently.

 

A better man would have cleaned the cum dripping from Louis’ hole too, but he likes the idea of it still being there in the morning too much to actually do it.

 

Harry throws the towel on the floor before lying down on the bed, maneuvering a dead-to-the-world Louis until he’s lying with his head on Harry’s chest, their standard cuddling position when they’re having a movie marathon.

 

As he lies here with a naked Louis curled up against him, his heart is filled with both hope and fear of what the next morning will bring.

 

 

**_The past_ **

 

Harry never really chose to have Louis in his life.

 

Their moms met while waiting for an ultrasound and immediately bonded over their similar sized baby bumps. For there on out, it was a mix of shared baby clothes shopping trips, failed crib building experiences, and delivery preparation classes _._

 

So when people ask Harry how he met Louis, he always tells the same story he was told by his mother, about a two-week-old Louis grabbing his tiny one-day-old baby hand and refusing to let go, much to their moms’ delight.

 

Growing up, the two boys were even closer than their mothers could have ever predicted, inventing a secret language and having more sleepovers than they should really be allowed to have.

 

There’s even a picture at Jay’s house of Louis and Harry using the potty at the same time, for Christ’s sake!

 

Louis was always fiercely protective of his best friend, and Harry was always fiercely loyal, so there wasn’t a single challenge that they didn’t tackle together, from learning to spell to dealing with both their parents’ divorces.

 

They were lucky enough to always be in the same classes, and both teachers and students alike knew that they were HarryandLouis – the dream-team – and that trying to separate them was an impossible feat.

 

Despite spending every waking (and sleeping) moment together, Harry and Louis developed very different interests during their teenage years. Whilst Harry could often be found with his head buried in a book or winning science competitions, Louis was wherever the spotlight was, somehow managing to be both a soccer and drama star, and still finding the time to pursue his true passion, singing and songwriting. But one thing was for sure, wherever one of the boys was, the other was always there for moral support (and, quite often, carrying the tackiest signs in the history of mankind).

 

It was also during those awkward teenage years that Harry realized something about himself, something he had always had inkling about – he was definitely and undeniably gay.

 

(He also realized he was in love with his best friend, but he has kept that particular secret till this day.)

 

So, with tears in his eyes and fear in his heart, fifteen-year-old Harry dragged Louis into his room after dinner one night and told him that he, Harry Edward Styles, was gay. (Actually he said that he was pretty sure that he was “um, not like, uh, into girls, you know?”). His fears quickly dissipated when his best friend hugged him so tightly, he could hardly breathe, whispering over and over again that he was “so proud of you, Haz” and “would love you no matter what”.

 

The summer holidays between their junior and senior years of high school brought a similar scenario, only this time it was Harry comforting a sobbing Louis who wasn’t sure he liked girls either.

 

Whereas Harry had stopped hiding his sexuality a long time before senior year, Louis was too scared of everyone’s reactions, so he only shared his secret with a few people, mostly family.

 

Harry had an easier time accepting who he was and coming to terms with the fact that there will always be a few people who will hate him just because of his sexual orientation, but Louis really struggled with not being “normal”, and had a hard time seeing his sexuality as anything other than a flaw.

 

Louis was a bit of a contradiction really; he never was anything other than accepting and protective of Harry’s sexuality, treating it as just another aspect of his personality, but when it came to his own sexual orientation, he spent most of his teenage years trying not to act upon it, too afraid of the consequences to even kiss a boy.

 

So, while Harry had an endless string of boyfriends throughout his high school and college years (none of them measured up to Louis, though, which is why those relationships ended), his best friend only had two (very secret) relationships.

 

It may seem like the polite and morally correct thing to say, but Harry truly does want Louis to fall madly in love and live happily-ever-after with his partner, even if he knows that he’ll have to watch it all from the sidelines. Louis is the sweetest and most caring person he knows, and he deserves to be loved and cherished.

 

Towards the end of their senior year, Harry and Louis struggled to accept that their pursuits and goals were very different, and the realization that they wouldn’t be able to spend every living, breathing moment together the following year made them extra clingy.

 

Life goes on though, and whilst Harry got accepted into college in in their hometown, San Francisco, Louis did not, and he had to move to San Jose to follow his original plan to study Literature.

 

The move was hard on everyone, as Louis was really close with both of their families, but Harry, _God_ , Harry cried even harder than when his parents got divorced. It was then that the kissing started, when two sobbing boys who were terrified of living without one another had to say goodbye, putting all their raw emotion and desperation into a bruising kiss that they failed to ever talk about.

 

It may seem ridiculous to have such an intense reaction to just an hour distance, but Louis had been a constant presence in his life since the day he was born, and up until their freshmen year of college, they had never even spent a single day without seeing each other.

 

Louis barely finished his freshman year of college before he decided to drop out, claiming that he wanted to try his luck in the music business. Truthfully, Harry knows that the distance between them actually played a major role in that decision.

 

Harry was there for every step of the way, from the moment he told Jay that he wanted to terminate his studies, all the way to the top of the charts. He held his hand when Louis couldn’t stop fidgeting before gigs, dried his tears when he was rejected from labels, and, when he finally got signed, he skipped three days of classes just to take him on a celebratory camping trip.

 

It was during that trip that Louis told him that he’d been advised to keep his sexuality a secret in order to become “as successful as possible”. The smaller man had never been particularly comfortable admitting he was anything other than straight anyway so, at the time, hiding his sexuality had seemed like a small sacrifice to make.

 

(He definitely doesn’t feel that way anymore.)

 

Moving to L.A. had been a no-brainer for Harry, as he knew that he couldn’t let his best friend tackle the big, bad world alone again, so he signed the transfer request to UCLA without even talking to his mom first.

 

So, whilst Harry was finishing his Biochemistry major, Louis made his way up the charts, not only in the US, but all around the world.

 

Soon enough he had gained a reputation not only as a brilliant singer and songwriter, but, unfortunately, also as a lothario, due to the many, many women who were often spotted hanging off his arm.

 

The fact that Harry spends his days working in a lab while his best friend is a world-renowned, multi-awarded superstar has had no impact on their friendship though, as they’re equally as supportive of each other’s careers - even if Louis is pretty clueless as to what the biochemist actually does for a living.

 

Which finally brings us to the present day again, with a blissed-out Louis sleeping on top of a grinning Harry.

 

 

**_The present (part II)_ **

 

 

Harry’s head is pounding when he wakes up, a disgusting layer of dry sweat covering his sore body.

 

It takes him a few minutes to realize where he is, the usual morning haziness mixing with the overpowering hangover dizziness.

 

As soon as he realizes that the night before wasn’t some sort of freakishly realistic dream, his eyes sweep over every inch of the bedroom in search of Louis.

 

Not only is the singer not in bed with him anymore, but his clothes are missing, and the bathroom door is open, clearly Louis-less.

 

Dread settles in his stomach at the thought of his best friend sneaking out and treating him like some meaningless hookup, and Harry isn’t sure how the hell he’s going to move on from this.

 

He gets up slowly, as if delaying his inevitable heartbreak is going to make a difference, only putting on his underwear before venturing out of the room and down the hall.

 

The cleaning crew clearly hasn’t shown up yet, as the entire house still looks like a high-class fraternity, bottles and empty cups tossed all over the place.

 

There’s a horrible smell permeating the air, a mix of booze, vomit, and sex, but Harry hardly notices, his attention fully focused on the different scenarios that could explain Louis’ behavior. He refuses to believe that his caring, attentive best friend would fuck-and-chuck him.

 

His heart starts beating faster when he hears voices coming from the kitchen, not knowing whether to be excited or scared at the thought of being faced with Louis again after their night together. This could be the moment that everything changes for them, either for the worse or for the better, depending on their impending interactions.

 

Harry walks into the kitchen to see Liam working on what looks like slightly burnt scrambled eggs and Zayn resting his head on the marble surface of the kitchen island, both clearly struggling to recover from last night’s cocktails. It’s so interesting to see how the two men are completely different from each other, even when they’re hungover; where Liam is sporting a skimpy pair of boxer briefs, as he hates feeling restricted, Zayn is bundled up in a large sweater, a loose pair of sweatpants, and thick socks.

 

Louis would have been wearing something similar to Zayn had he been there. But he isn’t.

 

“Where’s Louis?”

 

His deep voice echoes around the cream-colored walls, alerting the couple to his presence. Both heads shoot up, Zayn looking at the assortment of bruises on Harry’s neck with poorly concealed amusement.

 

“His fake girlfriend got caught fake cheating on him with another very not fake man last night.”

 

Harry’s head is way too foggy for Zayn’s riddles, so he just asks “What?” with confusion written all over his face.

 

“Somebody spotted Sara making out with a very _tall_ and _blonde_ dude last night.” Liam explains, accentuating the obvious differences between Louis and that guy, which would leave no room for error as to who she was _not_ kissing.

 

“He got called into an emergency meeting as soon as the pictures came out. Oh, he left a note for you. Um, where did I put it?”

 

Liam searches frantically through the messy kitchen, completely unaware of how Harry’s heart is threatening to beat out of his chest.

 

A note. Louis left a note.

 

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Louis is not avoiding him or running away. Maybe their relationship can even grow into something more.

 

That note holds the answer to every single one of Harry’s worries, as whatever is written there is going to set the tone as to how they’re going to deal with the fact that they had sex. He swears he’s going to strangle Liam if he doesn’t find it soon - this is a life-altering moment, and Harry can hardly breathe.

 

“Aha, here it is.” Liam says enthusiastically, picking up the single most important piece of paper Harry has ever seen in his entire life. Not even his Mick Jagger autograph measures up to this note.

 

His hands are visibly shaking as he accepts it, palms sweating with fear, anxiety, and the hope that he’s been trying to suppress since he was fifteen years old.

 

Harry doesn’t read it immediately, courage evading him before he can even open the folded note, but when he does read it, he wishes Liam had accidentally burned it while cooking.

 

_H, I noticed we were almost out of toilet paper yesterday. Could you please pick some up before going home? Thanks, bro! - Louis_

 

Toilet paper. Toilet. Fucking. Paper!

 

Harry was literally _inside_ Louis last night and the only thing on his best friend’s mind is their shortage of goddamn toilet paper.

 

Harry has never felt so _humiliated_ in his entire life, keeping his head down to hide how glassy his eyes have become after reading Louis’ stupid fucking note.

 

The word “bro” is like another dagger right into his heart. Never in their twenty-four years of friendship have they ever called each other that.

 

There might only be three sentences written on that stupid note, but they speak multitudes.

 

Louis is clearly putting him back in his platonic best friend place, and Harry is finally getting the message loud and clear. Louis does not and will never have any feelings beyond brotherly love towards him, and it’s about time Harry accepts that.

 

What he considers the best night of his life, Louis considers a drunken mistake.

 

Harry is now sure that he must rid himself of this stupid unrequited love and stop taking advantage of their closeness to fulfill his sick, twisted fantasies. There will be no more kissing and, _definitely_ , no more sex.

 

Harry puts on his poorly constructed poker face and excuses himself, sending a quick message to Niall to ask him if he can come over.

 

He manages to keep his tears at bay as he gets dressed and ready to go, ignoring the overpowering smell of sex and desire in the room to the best of his ability.

 

It takes him a while to realize why he can’t find his car keys, too preoccupied with his broken heart to think rationally, but then he remembers that he came in a limo with Louis last night. Stupid fucking Louis, who snuck out while Harry was sleeping and left him without a ride home.

 

Taking his Mini fucking Cooper to a Grammy’s after-party doesn’t sound like such a ridiculous idea anymore, does it?

 

Liam makes him swear up and down that he won’t crash his Range Rover before actually giving him the key, and Harry is half tempted to scratch the sides of the car just to piss him off.

 

He stops at Target on the way to Niall’s apartment, passive-aggressively buying four packages of twenty-roll toilet paper.

 

He’s barely keeping himself together by the time he reaches his friend’s home, and he falls into the blonde man’s arms with a choked sob as soon as he opens the door.

 

It takes two cups of green tea for Harry to finally be able to tell Niall about the sex, and four cups to get him to reread the stupid note. He kept it, not with the intention of torturing himself, but as an incentive to move on.

 

The two biochemists get into a bit of a disagreement after reading the note, Niall calling Louis a series of very colorful names and Harry defending him, always loyal to his best friend, even after he’s broken his heart once again.

 

Harry knows that Niall has his best interests at heart though, so he quickly forgives him.

 

“So, yeah, Nialler. It’s definitely time to move on. If having sex with him hasn’t changed anything between us, then nothing ever will. I think I might go on a few dates, you know, keep myself distracted until my silly feelings disappear. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even find prince charming while I’m trying to fall out of love with my toad of a best friend.”

 

Harry tries to smile, but the end result is more of a grimace than anything else. He might be done following his stupid treacherous heart, but that doesn’t mean that the whole process is going to be painless.

 

“Well,” Niall says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “if you’re serious about that, I might have bachelor number one already lined up for you.”

 

Harry doesn’t even have time to question his friend’s weird excitement before the blonde continues enthusiastically, “I wasn’t even going to mention this, because I thought you and Louis, uh, never mind. Anyway, I have this friend who works at a radio station, and I think you two would really hit it off. He saw a photo of us on Instagram once and said that you were “absolutely gorgeous”. He was really pissed off too. Kept asking why I had been hiding such a handsome man from him.”

 

There’s nothing Niall loves more than playing cupid, especially if it’s between two people he loves and whom he honestly thinks will work well together. Harry will never not admire his friend’s enthusiasm and peculiar view on life.

 

Less than twenty-four hours ago, Harry’s immediate answer would have been no, but, as it is, a lot has changed since yesterday.

 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go out with him.”

 

Truthfully, Harry is yearning to be in control of his own life, instead of being just a slave to his unrequited feelings. Contradicting his silly heart seems to be the best plan he’s had so far.

 

“Wow, that didn’t take much convincing, did it?” Niall exclaims, surprised at how easily Harry had agreed to go on a date with Nick.

 

“I guess I’m just tired of being in love with someone who’s never going to love me back.” Harry answers with a resigned sigh, “Set me up with your radio host friend, Irish cupid.”

 

Niall’s eyes turn into mere slits as a huge smile takes over his face at the mention of his self-attributed nickname.

 

 _Well, at least someone’s happy!_ Harry thinks bitterly.

 

“Okay, don’t make any plans for Friday night. I promise that Nick is going to blow your mismatched socks off!”

 

Harry is honestly actually a bit excited for this date. It’s been awhile since he’s been on one, too busy with work and, well, unrequited love to go out. He loves meeting new people though, and there’s no way a radio host could ever be boring.

 

Harry’s quite proud of himself right now – he has officially stopped being pathetic and moved on to being proactive.

 

Harry hides out at Niall’s house for as long as possible, before finally accepting that he can’t delay going back to his and Louis’ shared home anymore. Avoiding Louis would only make everything more awkward, and he sure as hell isn’t about to punish his best friend for not loving him back, regardless of how much pain he might be in. Harry’s the one who messed up, breaking Louis’ trust by falling in love with him, and it wouldn’t be fair for him to put the blame on his best friend.

 

He spends the entire drive home trying to coach his body into a calm and collected expression; Louis is clearly aiming for a shared amnesia, and Harry is planning on respecting his wishes.

 

The biochemist walks into their home with a surprising amount of confidence, dropping his keys on the purple bowl next to the door before spotting Louis sprawled out on the couch, looking eerily similar to Patrick from _SpongeBob_.

 

The singer is wearing a cozy pair of grey sweatpants and the Green Bay Packers sweater that Harry had bought him as a failed attempt at making him a fan. (“I’d rather aggressively poke my eyeballs with toothpicks than watch this boring-ass sport, Harry!”) He looks lovely.

 

The late afternoon sunlight beaming through the windows highlights Louis’ gorgeous eyes and soft hair. He looks even more tempting now that Harry has had a taste, every inch of his body capable of sending a chill down the taller man’s spine without even touching him.

 

“Oh, hey, Lou.” Harry greets him, mentally patting himself on the back for sounding way more casual than he feels.

 

“I heard your girlfriend cheated on you yesterday. That sucks, dude!” He adds in a joking tone, mocking his friend’s stunt just like he normally would before the whole sex mishap. The “dude” was probably overemphasis on the casualty of the situation, but hey, they are “bros”, aren’t they?

 

Louis looks like he hasn’t gotten his own memo, a bright blush coloring his cheeks as he stutters to produce an appropriate response. He clearly wanted Harry to pretend like nothing happened last night, so why is he acting so surprised that he’s doing precisely that?

  

“Um, yeah, it was, uh, a b-bit of a PR nightmare, to be honest.”

_So much for keeping it from getting awkward, Tomlinson,_ Harry thinks bitterly.

 

“I heard the official statement on the radio on my way here. Something about a big fight right after the Grammy’s, causing her to “seek solace in another man’s arms”. Those suits sure do know how to spin any situation, don’t they?”

 

Kudos to him, honestly; Harry’s practically carrying the entire conversation on his own. God only knows where all this fierceness has been hiding his entire life, especially when he was fighting tears at the goddamn toilet paper aisle at Target. Which reminds him…“Oh, I forgot the toilet paper in the car, shit.”

 

Harry uses the walk to and from the car to take deep breaths and brace himself for facing his best friend again, but he comes back just in time to hear Louis’ bedroom door being shut, the couch now depressingly empty.

 

_Conversation over, I guess._

 

Harry cries himself to sleep that night, just like he had many a night before, cursing at his stupid heart for always allowing itself to be broken by the same man over and over again.

 

*

 

Louis seems to get his mojo back sometime during the night, as he’s behaving in the exact same way as before they fell into bed together, throwing berries at Harry’s head while the green-eyed man cooks them breakfast.

 

They keep the conversation suspiciously light, completely avoiding any topics related to the Grammy’s, Liam and Zayn, or sex. It works out for them. Just as long as it’s that specific conversation that they’re avoiding and not each other, Harry can’t complain.

 

He could swear that Louis keeps staring at him a little too intently whilst they make and eat their breakfast, but he’s probably wrong.

 

*

 

The rest of the week comes and goes in similar fashion, their relationship returning to a strictly platonic state.

 

Before Harry even realizes, it’s Thursday evening already, which means that his date with Niall’s friend, Nick, is tomorrow. He hasn’t told Louis about it yet, feeling stupidly guilty for going out with someone else for whatever fucked up reason.

 

Harry’s making dinner when Louis gets home, the smaller man following the delicious smell coming from the kitchen all the way to the stove like a ravenous puppy.

 

“Man, I. Am. Pooped! Liam and I finally finished that song we’ve been working on for-fucking-ever though, so I’ve definitely earned whatever yummy yummy goodness you’re working on there.” Louis says enthusiastically, reaching for the sizzling vegetables to steal a slice of nearly perfectly caramelized onion.

 

Harry slaps his hand away, pretending to be put out by his best friend’s eagerness.

 

“This yummy yummy goodness that I’m working on is fajitas.” Harry says, mimicking Louis’ higher-pitched, raspy voice and earning himself a smack on the head, “I was going to make the legendary Styles family pasta but I didn’t have the ingredients, so I ended up repeating an oldie but goldie.”

 

Fajitas were the first proper dish Harry learned how to cook, so he used to make it all the time when their moms weren’t home and they were left to fend for themselves. It’s not as if he could ever count on Louis to cook!

 

“Well, I’m certainly glad you didn’t make it tonight ‘cause I invited Liam and Zayn over for dinner tomorrow, and kinda sorta promised that you would make it for them. I’ll just run to the store tomorrow morning to get whatever ingredients you need. Can you make it with fewer vegetables this time though? I’m pretty sure I shat zucchini fibers for a week last time.”

 

Louis’ cringes at his own poop reference, but Harry is too focused on his overlapping plans to even notice.

 

_I guess now is as good a time as ever to tell him about Nick._

 

“Oh, um, I’m actually not going to be home tomorrow night.” Harry says, feeling even guiltier now that he knows that he’s ruining his best friends’ dinner plans.

It’s a pity as well; Zayn’s leaving for the Milan Fashion Week on Saturday and he’s planning on spending a few weeks relaxing in the south of Italy with Liam, so he won’t even get to see them for a while.

 

“What? Why?” Louis fires back quickly.

 

“I, uh, I’m going on a date tomorrow.” Harry answers, keeping himself busy by stirring the sizzling vegetables unnecessarily.

 

God only knows why he’s so nervous about telling Louis that he has a date when the other man doesn’t even care.

 

“How the hell did that happen?”

 

Hurt and anger spread all over Harry’s body at the surprised tone in Louis’ voice, as if he can’t even imagine who would be stupid enough to ask Harry out.

 

“Wow, spare my feelings, why won’t you. I know I’m no popstar or Victoria’s Secret fucking model, or whatever, but I’m certainly worthy of being asked out on a date! I can’t believe you just said that, you insensitive fucking asshole!”

 

Louis jumps from the kitchen counter so fast, he nearly hits his head on the overhead cupboards. “Harry, I didn’t- ”

 

“You know what?” Harry says, interrupting him, “I don’t even want to hear a single word you have to say. Fuck you, Louis! Just because I’m not famous or whatever, it doesn’t mean that I’m not likeable! I’m a fucking catch, you blind dickhead.”

 

Harry is seeing red now, stomping forcefully to his bedroom after turning the stove off.

 

Angry tears are running down his face as he locks the door, throwing himself onto the bed and using his pillow to silence his loud sobs pathetically like some sort of repressed teenager. He wants Louis to know how mad he is, but he doesn’t want him to figure out why he’s so upset about his best friend not finding him desirable.

 

Harry is angry, and hurt, but, above all, he feels incredibly humiliated for spending so much time loving someone who thinks so lowly of him.

 

When Louis knocks on his door a few minutes later, begging Harry to let him in so they can talk, he puts his headphones on and lets the loud music drown out his best friend’s apologies.

 

He’s more pissed off than hurt when he finally falls asleep, probably a result of having had his heart broken too many times for him to tolerate it anymore.

 

*

 

To say that Harry is in a bad mood the next morning would be a huge understatement.

 

He delays leaving his room until the last possible moment, dreading the possibility of running into Louis on his path to the car.

 

The singer isn’t even awake yet apparently, and Harry is once again reminded of how pathetic he is, thinking that Louis would make any sort of effort to apologize.

 

His morning improves slightly when he receives a text message from Nick saying that he’s glad Harry had accepted to go on a date with him, and that he can’t wait to finally meet him.

 

 _At least someone thinks I’m worthy of their attention,_ Harry thinks bitterly.

 

Harry spends the rest of the day alternating between feeling like shit because of his fight with Louis, and feeling nervous and excited for his date with Nick. He has pretty good instincts when it comes to people, and the radio host strikes him as a funny and surprisingly sweet man.

 

No one’s more excited about tonight than Niall though, the blonde man clearly reveling in his cupid-like role, as he’s apparently unable to talk about anything else all day.

 

Harry’s bad mood makes a full return as he’s driving home, the idea of having to deal with Louis making him sick to his stomach, and he can only hope that the singer will be out of the house.

 

He’s certainly caught off guard when he sees Liam’s car in their driveway, as he’d assumed that Louis would have just cancelled their dinner plans considering that all three men are terrible cooks.

 

His lack of faith in all three of his friends’ cooking skills is renewed when he’s greeted by the sound of the fire alarm going off as soon as he steps into his home.

 

Harry runs to the kitchen, taking in the sight in front of him with poorly concealed irritation.

 

Louis is standing in front of the stove trying to put out the flames by filling a stupid “I love Frisco” mug with water. Harry rolls his eyes at his best friend’s irresponsibility, before picking up the pot of what looks like burn rice and placing it directly under running water in the sink. How one manages to set fucking rice on fire is beyond him.

 

Harry can still sense the small body standing behind him as he throws out the burnt rice, always overly aware of Louis’ presence. He puts a solid effort into ignoring the singer’s presence though, which does not go unnoticed, if the little whining sound he makes is anything to go by _._

 

Despite his complete disregard of Louis, he still greets Zayn and Liam warmly, knowing better than to take his bad mood out on the couple.

 

“Harry, can I talk to you for a minute, please?” Louis asks, his voice carrying the same remorseful tone he always uses when he knows he messed up, all quiet and syrupy-like.

 

Harry is instantly reminded of a ten-year-old Louis confessing to his mom that he was the one who broke her favorite vase, not the cat.

 

He doesn’t look at him at all, fully aware that he would cave as soon as he saw Louis curling in on himself like he always does when he feels either guilty or sad, or both. What Louis said last night dug a deep hole in Harry’s heart, and he refuses to let the singer get away with it this easily.

 

“I don’t have time. I’m late enough for my date as it is because of the mess you made.”

 

Harry can’t remember a single occasion when he had addressed Louis with this much venom marking his words.

 

“Okay, maybe later, then? After you come back?” The singer’s usual booming voice has been reduced to a timid little whisper as he addresses his pissed off best friend.

 

“I don’t know, Louis. Probably not.“ Harry answers with a dismissive tone, going into his room to get changed without even looking back.

 

Had he looked back, he would have seen the fat tears rolling down Louis’ cheeks, but he didn’t, so he’s still blissfully unaware of just how much pain he’s causing.

 

Knowing that Louis doesn’t think that he’s attractive enough to be asked on a date fuels Harry into dressing up in the most provocative outfit he can possibly think of.

 

His black jeans are so tight that his bulge looks utterly obscene, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He pairs his “getting laid jeans” with a see-through black shirt, leaving it unbuttoned past what would be considered as appropriate for a first date, his chest tattoos nearly fully on display. Harry tops it all off with a pair of black glittery YSL boots Zayn had bought him in Paris for last year’s Secret Santa party.

 

(Harry had been Liam’s Secret Santa, giving him Loki, their much beloved puppy.)

 

As he stares at himself in the mirror, he honestly thinks that he looks more like a rock star than Louis does most days, which does wonders for his self-esteem.

 

Harry leaves his bedroom with an extra spring on his step, walking into the living room to find the three men whispering away with upset looks on their faces.

 

He only becomes totally and completely aware of just how hot he actually looks when every single pair of eyes widen after seeing him.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, you look good enough to eat.” Zayn says, giving him an obvious once-over, and making Harry blush. It’s not everyday that you impress a world-renowned top model.

 

“Yeah, damn, Harry. You’re really bringing your A game to this date, aren’t you?”

 

Zayn elbows Liam on the side when the singer says this, though Harry is not entirely sure why. He’d given up on trying to decipher Liam and Zayn’s secret language a long while ago, probably around the time when he figured out that “doing the laundry” actually meant sex.

 

It’s safe to say that Harry’s bad mood is partially gone, but it has been replaced by a vengeful mood, which is even worse for all parties involved.

 

“I have a good feeling about Nick. I think he might just be the one for me.”

 

Okay, Harry isn’t sure where the hell the crap he’s spewing is coming from considering that he hasn’t even met the guy yet, but his words seem to be bothering Louis for some reason, so he keeps going.

 

“I’ll probably just end up going back to his place after dinner, so I won’t be seeing you later, but I hope you have loads of fun during your little Italian getaway.”

 

He hugs Liam and Zayn warmly, before making his way out of the house without a single word in Louis’ direction.

 

Luckily, Nick has just parked his car to pick Harry up, so he doesn’t even have time to feel guilty about ignoring his best friend.

 

*  


Even though Harry’s sole motivation for this date was to try to forget about his unrequited feelings towards his best friend, he’s pleasantly surprised when it actually works.

 

He doesn’t fall out of love with Louis over a single meal, obviously, but he manages to spend over five hours without thinking about him at all, which is definitely a record for Harry.

 

Nick is hilarious, witty, and quite attractive, and Harry is definitely glad that he agreed to go out with him, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

 

They stay at the lovely Japanese restaurant Nick had picked until closing time, too enraptured in their conversation to even notice how much time had gone by.

 

When they get back to the car, he asks Nick to drop him off at Niall’s, still set on proving his point to Louis. If the radio host finds his request strange, he’s too much of a gentleman to comment on it.

 

“I had a really great time, Harry.” Nick says as he walks Harry to the door, an honorable attitude in itself, “Maybe we can do this again soon?”

 

Harry finds himself unexpectedly giddy as he agrees to a second date, and even gives Nick a quick peck on the lips before making his way upstairs.

 

His crappy day has certainly turned around.

 

As Harry and Niall gossip away like a pair of teenage girls well into the night, the curly-haired man almost forgets about his fight with Louis.

 

*

 

As Harry walks home the next morning, he feels weirdly triumphant for tricking his best friend into thinking that he spent the night with Nick. He’s fairly certain that if his life were a movie, the background music would be _I just had sex_ by the Lonely Island.

 

The sight that greets him when he reaches his bedroom, however, is heartbreaking, and Harry’s good mood is quickly squashed.

 

Louis is curled up on his bed, fast asleep, though the bags under his eyes and his puffy face tell Harry that he hasn’t been sleeping for very long. There’s a bunch of snotty tissues on the nightstand, obvious proof that Louis had been crying for likely _hours_ the night before.

 

The fact that he’s in Harry’s bed, wearing his old UCLA sweater, makes it heartbreakingly obvious that _he_ was the cause of his best friend’s tears and overall misery.

 

He gently nudges Louis’ side, fondly watching his nose wrinkle just before he opens his gorgeous blue eyes.

 

The singer’s face shows a range of emotions, before settling on sadness.

 

Breaking their eye contact, Louis fidgets with his hair before gathering the courage to finally speak, “Please let me explain what happened, Haz. I’m really, really sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to insult you. Please, Hazza…”

 

Harry forgives him as soon as he sees the tears filling Louis’ eyes, but he still lets him explain.

 

“I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. You’re gorgeous, and funny, and so, so kind, and anyone would be lucky to be with you. I was just caught off guard… You had never mentioned him before, and I just wasn’t expecting it. I was surprised, yes, but not by the fact that you were going on a date. I just thought you would have told me if you were interested in someone. I mean, we’re best friends, and you’re clearly serious enough about this guy to, you know, spend the night with him or whatever, and I don’t even know his name. Also, um, I, uh, I was jealous, okay? That’s why I reacted the way I did, and I’m sorry that I made you think you weren’t worthy of attention. Because you are, you know…”

 

Harry is speechless after Louis’ rambling, completely unable to fully process it all, so he chooses to only focus on the last part.

 

“Louis, look at me. You’ve been my best friend for twenty-four years; you don’t need to be jealous of who I’m dating, okay? No guy’s dick will ever be sweet enough for me to forget about you. Best friends forever, remember? You’ll always have a place in my life. As a matter of fact, if I ever marry Nick or anyone else, I promise you’ll be my best man. I’ll even let you hire as many male strippers as you’d like for my bachelor party!” Harry says, chuckling.

 

His attempt at a joke seems to really fall short though, as Louis starts crying even harder than before.

 

Startled, Harry hugs his best friend tightly until his loud sobs reduce into pathetic little hiccups, repeating that they’ll always be friends over and over again, and telling him he’ll never love anyone the way he loves Louis.

 

_If only he knew just how true that statement was…_

 

“What happened, Lou? What did I say?” Harry asks, still confused as to why his reassurances had made a sobbing mess out of his best friend.

 

“Nothing Haz, nothing happened. I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I’m just upset that we fought and really happy to have you as my best friend, that’s all.”

 

Harry instantly believes Louis’ explanation; why would he be lying, anyway?

 

*

 

Louis and Harry go back to being inseparable in a heartbeat after that, as if it’s their default mode.

 

He goes on three more (lovely) dates with Nick, Louis finishes his new album, and they even invite Liam and Zayn over for dinner again as an attempt to make up for that disastrous night.

 

They’re all quite drunk, having just finished their third bottle of wine, so they decide to watch an entire season of “Sex and the City”, because apparently that’s what four gay men do when they’re drunk.

 

Zayn’s head starts sagging around the time Charlotte’s dog gets pregnant, so Liam decides to call it a night, practically carrying his fiancé to their Uber.

 

The Hollywood power couple is barely out of the door when it happens.

 

Harry has this stupid idea to start a tickle fight with Louis, being easily overpowered by the smaller man, as his coordination is even worse when he’s drunk.

 

They somehow end up on the floor, Harry lying on the fluffy carpet with Louis straddling him and holding his hands above his head.

 

It happens so fast, Harry doesn’t even have time to protest; one minute, they’re giggling, and the next Louis is pressing his chapped lips against Harry’s own.

 

Awareness hits Harry suddenly, and he pushes the singer off of him, much more forcefully than he had intended.

 

“I can’t do this thing anymore. I’m dating Nick now, and it’s not fair to him for me to be messing around with somebody else. I’m sorry, Louis, but he’s my priority. Whatever this silly thing we do sometimes is, it can’t get in the way of my actual relationship.”

 

Louis looks frozen in place as he processes Harry’s words, his eyes widening to an almost comical size.

 

The singer stands up suddenly, merely saying, “Right, um, right”, before quite literally running out of their shared home, leaving a stunned Harry still lying on the floor and wondering how the hell they had managed to make such a fucking mess out of their friendship.

 

*

 

If Louis rushing out of the house had left Harry confused, the next day confuses him even further, as the singer never comes back home.

 

The biochemist calls him over and over again, leaving countless voicemails begging his best friend to call him back. He even looks up one of those creepy update accounts on twitter to see if Louis has been spotted anywhere, but they’re apparently just as clueless as he is.

 

The green-eyed man drives himself so far up the wall that Liam eventually takes pity on him, telling him that Louis is alive and well, just doesn’t want to see or talk to Harry, which still makes absolutely no sense to him.

 

Harry has never been more desperate to understand what is going on in his best friend’s head, so he’s driven into do something he had promise never to do.

 

You see, Louis is pretty open about himself - not with the general public, of course, but he doesn’t like keeping secrets from his family, Harry included.

 

There’s one item that he keeps completely out of anyone’s reach, though - the notebook in which he writes random thoughts and lyrics - and Harry had always respected him enough not to invade his privacy and delve into his secret thoughts.

 

He’s sitting on the rug in the middle of Louis’ bedroom now, staring at the notebook in front of him and thinking about how wrong it would be for him to break his best friend’s trust, especially when he knows that he’s already done something that upset Louis.

 

Harry’s faced with a dilemma: delving into his best friend’s most intimate thoughts, and, thus, breaking his trust, or remaining clueless towards Louis’ actions until he (hopefully) decides to come home again.

 

In the end, the hope growing in his chest due to a possibility he doesn’t dare acknowledge yet is what drives him to open the notebook.

 

*

 

By the time Harry has read the very last word written in the notebook, his head is pounding from the constant stream of tears running down his face, the knowledge of just how badly he has hurt Louis over the years overwhelming him beyond belief.

 

He read pages upon pages of unrecorded songs; songs about unrequited love and excruciating pain. Sentences upon sentences about green eyes and curls, and a friendship that means so much to him, but just isn’t enough. Rhymes upon rhymes about stolen kisses and burning jealousy. There were even a few more risqué songs about long legs and loaded guns, but Harry is too flabbergasted to properly appreciate those.

 

The memories written in the notebook sound so familiar, and yet the point of view is simultaneously so similar and so different from his own.

 

Both men have known immeasurable pain, but, at the end of the day, they were inflicting that pain upon themselves, as Harry now knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Louis is as in love with him as he is with the singer.

 

Neither of them are victims of unrequited love; the only thing they’re victims of is a serious case of lack of balls.

 

With that knowledge, and after having a good cry - happy tears this time around - Harry is finally clear headed enough to realize where Louis is hiding.

 

And the answer was obvious all along, wasn’t it?

 

Growing up, whenever the singer fell, or had a nightmare, or got mocked at school, he _always_ asked for his mommy. He may be a full-grown adult now, but Jay’s arms will always be his favorite hiding place.

 

Harry wastes no time before getting in the car, heading in the direction of the city where he met the love of his life - San Francisco.

 

Although it still feels like routine to end up at Tomlinson’s door, the house in front of him isn’t the same as when they were kids. This one is bigger, with a huge garden and a swimming pool, a generous present from Louis when he’d earned himself the millionaire title.

 

The kind blue eyes he finds on the other side of the door, however, still hold the exact same warmth as they always have.

 

“Finally, you idiot!” Jay says exasperatedly as soon as she opens the door.

 

Harry feels a warm rush of affection as he hugs the woman who basically co-raised him, but he can’t help but be antsy to see Louis.

 

“He’s upstairs.” Jay says unprompted, answering the question that Harry never asked, but was desperate to know.

 

Harry tries to walk past Jay, but he’s stopped by her hand on his arm, “He’s hurting a lot, Harry. Please try to fix whatever is going on; I can’t handle having my two sons fighting.”

 

Jay is clearly aware, on some level, of what is going on; she knows that Harry hurt Louis, and yet here she is, welcoming him into her home with open arms and trusting him to patch up her son’s heart.

 

“Trust me, Jay. I’ll do everything I can to never hurt Louis again.” Harry assures her, “I love him.”

 

Understanding seems to glint in Jay’s eyes and the corners of her mouth tilt upwards, but she doesn’t actually say anything, simply allowing Harry to walk towards the stairs.

 

Harry rushes upstairs, heart pounding and hands sweating, knocking on Louis’ bedroom door way too lightly.

 

Unsurprisingly, his knocking goes unanswered, so he opens the door slowly, peeking in first as to not overstep any boundaries.

 

The sight in front of him is disturbingly similar to the one that had greeted him after his first date with Nick. A visibly exhausted Louis is curled up on the bed, wearing a sweater Harry’s pretty sure used to be his from back when he thought Abercrombie & Fitch was cool. He also recognizes the teddy bear cuddled tightly against Louis’ chest as a prize from a county fair they had gone to together after Harry’s junior year boyfriend had broken up with him.

 

Even after Harry’s broken his heart once again, Louis still seems to crave that proximity that they have always shared, clinging to every item that reminds him of the taller man.

 

He gently nudges Louis awake, watching as a look of surprise and pain overpowers Louis’ facial expressions, before he settles on a carefully rehearsed look of indifference.

 

And, all of the sudden, Harry is angry.

 

Had he not read Louis’ notebook without his permission, he would have never found out about his feelings, as the singer is clearly still set on hiding them.

 

(Never mind the fact that Harry has been doing the exact same thing for _years_.)

 

He’s positively _livid_ at his best friend for running away instead of just being fucking honest. So, even though he should be holding Louis in his arms right now and telling him how much he loves him, he actually starts yelling until his throat is burning.

 

“Listen to me, you blue-eyed asshole, who the fuck do you think you are, making me worry sick about where you were, not even knowing if you were fucking alive? You’re the most self-centered and selfish person I have ever met, I swear! _I won’t let these little things slip out of my mouth_? Well, maybe you should let them slip out, you poetic motherfucker! Neither of us would be in this fucked up situation if you hadn’t kept all these secrets from me! Do you have any idea how much heartbreak we could have spared each other from had you not been the biggest liar on the face of the earth? You fucking tricked me into getting the least platonic tattoos of all time with you without ever telling what they meant to you! Always writing down the shit you ought to be telling me. Well, guess what? I’m never letting you buy another goddamn notebook ever again, you fucking dickhead! God, I hate you so much right now, I could actually kill you! I _hate_ your stupid fucking sexy voice. I _hate_ your stupid fucking beautiful songs. I _hate_ your stupid fucking gorgeous eyes. But, above all, I _hate_ that I’m so insanely in love with you that I’m screaming the house down and crying like a fucking weirdo instead of kissing the fuck out of-”

 

The pressure of Louis’ lips against his finally shuts him up, his anger dissipating into an overwhelming sense of relief and giddiness.

 

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you, you passive-aggressive motherfucker.” Louis moans in between kisses, aggressively holding Harry’s face in his hands.

 

“I love you too. Asshole.”

 

 

**_The future_ **

 

 

Harry is pretty sure he’s still dreaming, as the pleasure coursing through his veins seems unearthly. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe fucking and being fucked by Louis for over two years has finally killed him.

 

He opens his eyes and immediately closes them again; the sight of Louis’ lips stretched around his cock being way too much for his barely awake brain.

 

He can hardly believe this is his life now. How many times had he fantasized about this exact setting during his teenage years, with one hand stroking his length and the other covering his mouth as to not wake his parents up? How many surreptitious glances were there in the showers after gym class, desperately trying to memorize Louis’ thick, pink, wet dick for later use?

 

Now, all Harry has to do is look down at where Louis is stroking himself, always so beautifully aroused by the feeling of Harry’s cock down his throat.

 

He starts fucking up into his boyfriend’s mouth roughly, fully aware of how much the singer likes being used like that - a drunken confession whispered about two weeks after they had gotten together.

 

It doesn’t take long before he’s rasping out a deep moan, pulling on Louis’ hair as the smaller man swallows his cum greedily.

 

When Harry finally manages to overcome that blissfull state of haze caused by his orgasm, his gaze immediately slides down to Louis’ cock, looking painfully red and so stiff you could probably balance a basketball on it.

 

(How Harry manages to get laid is beyond him, given how fucking weird his thoughts are sometimes.)

 

He considers sucking his boyfriend off for a second, but then he has a much better idea, one that is guaranteed to make Louis squirm with pleasure.

 

“Come sit on my face, Lou.” Harry demands, feeling immensely satisfied when he hears the gasp that immediately comes out of his boyfriend’s abused mouth.

 

Louis obeys quickly, albeit unsteadily, getting on his knees above Harry’s face, the singer’s tantalizing ass right over his mouth.

 

The first touch of his tongue against his boyfriend’s hole is always intoxicating for both men, synchronized moans escaping from their mouths.

 

They’re both too desperate, making Harry’s efforts lack finesse, wetter and rougher than usual.

 

Louis is shaking like a leaf above him, his moans broken and loud. His entire upper body falls forward suddenly, his mouth landing on Harry’s upper thigh, where he begins to bite and suck and lick. They’re both vaguely aware of how much the beard burn will sting later, when Harry wears his tight designer pants on the red carpet, but the thought only arouses them even more.

 

Louis moans loudly when Harry’s spit-wet middle finger breaches him, his hole loose enough from the taller man’s tongue that the feeling is of pure pleasure, with no discomfort whatsoever.

 

The singer is dragging his ass all over his boyfriend's face now, forcing Harry to move around in order to keep both his finger and tongue inside and around him.

 

It only takes three or four more hard strokes to the singer’s prostate, Harry’s tongue still slurping around his long fingers, and Louis is coming with a loud yell.

 

About an hour later, in the shower, Harry takes advantage of the looseness of Louis’ hole by placing his boyfriend’s hands on the wall in front of him and thrusting into him from behind, whispering about how gorgeous he looks being wrecked and how in love Harry is.

 

*

 

Surrounded by hairdressers and makeup artists, Harry feels oddly like a bride on her wedding day.

 

The small hand loosely holding his keeps his annoyance and impatience at bay though, as he’s reminded of the reason behind this circus.

 

It feels like it’s been half a century since that life-altering night when Harry watched Louis accept his Artist of the Year award on their living room T.V.

 

Tonight, the two men are finally able to attend the Grammy’s together, a brand new landmark in their love story, one that will be remember for years to come.

 

The hand Louis will be holding on the red carpet will be Harry’s. The voice whispering in his ear during the ceremony will be raspy and deep. The lips on his when the singer wins the Artist of the Year award for the second time will be Harry’s plump ones. When he takes the stage, he won’t thank his “best friend, Harry” but his “best friend _and_ love of my life, Harry”. And, later, when Louis rides him into oblivion in the very same room where they had sex in for the first time, there will be nothing surprising or unexpected about it, and Harry is sure that he won’t wake up alone this time.

 

There have been many confessions and heartfelt explanations traded since the beginning of their relationship, and Harry fully realizes now that he completely misinterpreted Louis’ behavior the day after they had sex for the first time.

 

Louis had been just as scared as he was when it came to dealing with what the next morning would bring, but the emergency meeting he’d been called into had messed up his plans of having an adult, civilized conversation with Harry over breakfast.

 

The intent behind the note was actually so that Harry wouldn’t think that he’d been ditched and forgotten, and Louis had ended up writing about something silly and trivial just because he couldn’t think of anything else to write.

 

Any and all plans to calmly discuss the fact that they’d had sex had been flushed down the toilet when Harry completely ignored the elephant in the room, and Louis thought that he was doing the right thing by also pretending that it had never happened.

 

Regardless of how much time had been wasted, Harry is certainly grateful for the two years that they’ve shared as a couple.

 

Evolving from lifelong best friends to boyfriends had been surprisingly effortless, as if they had always been lovers, just without the benefits.

 

Most problems had arisen from outside influences, but they had faced those together as a united front.

 

Louis’ management team had been very unwilling to support their relationship, going as far as to try to force him to participate in more stunts, even after the singer had flat-out refused to do so.

 

It even got to a point where both men had lost all hope that they would ever be able to come out, Louis apologizing in between sobs and Harry assuring him that by no means did he blame him. Being together, even if secretly, made both men infinitely happier than they had ever been before.

 

Help had come rather unexpectedly during an intimate get-together at Liam and Zayn’s house.

 

Louis had been wearing a tight pair of black jeans that hugged his glorious ass delightfully, causing Harry to be understandably distracted. He’d been so enraptured watching his boyfriend’s butt jiggle as jumped onto Liam’s back that he’d completely missed the tall man walking his way, crashing into him forcefully and causing the red wine he’d been holding to stain the front of both men’s shirts.

 

In between numerous apologies, he had learned that the unlucky stranger’s name was Jeff, and that he knew Liam “from the music business”.

 

Jeff’s girlfriend, Glenne, had joined them later on, the three of them getting along like a house on fire, all the while Harry still remaining completely unaware of just how powerful the other man’s last name was.

 

Imagine his surprise when Jeff told him that he’d heard about his relationship with Louis through the grapevine, and that both himself and his father were “thinking about interfering”. The odd conversation came to an end when Liam proposed a toast, but not before Jeff asked Harry to tell Louis to “give him a call if he’s interested in doing business with us”.

 

The look of sheer delight on Louis’ face when he saw the name Jeff Azoff written on the business card was certainly worth getting an irremovable stain on one of his favorite shirts.

 

Their coming out hadn’t been abrupt though, but through a series of carefully planned outings and articles. The man always described as Louis’ “best friend”, became his “rumored lover” and, later, his “loving boyfriend”.

 

Backlash had been nearly non-existent, reinforcing Harry’s faith in humanity and exponentially increasing his disgust towards Louis’ former PR team, who had so often insisted that being honest about his sexuality would definitely end his career.

 

At the end of the day, Harry could be living in a shack and being chased by lunatics with pitchforks, and he’d still be the happiest man alive just as long as he had Louis by his side.

 

*

 

Louis looks exhausted when he wakes up the next morning, the excitement of the Grammy’s, and the cocktails and shots at the after party finally catching up to him.

 

It takes a great deal of cuddling, kissing, and some cock sucking for Harry to finally convince his boyfriend to get out of bed.

 

(He would probably be tired as well, if not for the adrenaline rushing through his body.)

 

“This is ridiculous, why can’t we just stay in bed all day? I don’t need to go out for lunch to celebrate my awards. All I need is you, preferably naked, and a box of mac’n’cheese, and I’m a happy boy. Forget Disneyland, our bed is the happiest place on Earth!” Louis complains, his pout becoming harder and harder to resist.

 

If this were a regular day, Harry would have easily complied to his boyfriend’s requests, as per usual, but, as it is, this isn’t just some ordinary occasion.

 

“Lou, I made these reservations ages ago because I thought you would be excited about going to your _favorite_ restaurant to celebrate the new additions on your Grammy’s shelf. Please stop complaining, you’re breaking my heart…” Harry whines, putting his nonexistent acting skills to good use as he tries to persuade his boyfriend.

 

Louis could never resist his pout before they started dating, and he has certainly become even weaker ever since.

 

Harry simply cannot believe that his boyfriend is trying to sabotage his big plans, even if he doesn’t actually know what they are yet.

 

“Fine, you win, you charming asshole.” Louis huffs out, looking at Harry with a furrowed brow and pouty lips.

 

Louis gets up with brusque movements, making it obvious just how putout and annoyed he is to have been disturbed, but he still leans in for a kiss, so Harry isn’t worried.

 

 *

 

The loving couple is ten minutes late when they finally make it to the restaurant, but at least they’re here.

 

The hostess, a cliché L.A. girl with blonde hair and twig-like arms, recognizes them immediately, putting on a phony smile as they walk towards her.

 

“Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Styles. Welcome to _Casa Vega_. Please follow me to the private dining room area, as per Mr. Styles request.”

 

Louis looks at Harry with surprise written all over his face. It’s not unusual for the couple to dine at _Casa Vega_ , but they’ve certainly never been extravagant enough to rent out the backroom before.

 

“Wow, you sure pulled out all the stops, Haz, reserving the backroom just for us and everything.”

 

There’s a naughty smirk tugging at the singer’s lips, probably assuming that Harry wanted privacy so that he could give him a blowjob under the table without ending up on the evening news. It’s certainly no secret that the biochemist likes to get frisky in public, but there’s no way in hell that’s happening today.

 

Although Harry knows exactly what’s waiting for them in the backroom, his heart still melts at the sight of both his and Louis’ family gathered around the table.

 

The singer’s astonishment quickly shifts into excitement as he hugs his mom, stepfather, sisters, and baby brother. He’s just as happy to see Harry’s family as he is his own, greeting them with equally warm hugs.

 

Louis saves the tightest hug for his boyfriend though, as he is certain that Harry is the man behind the plan.

 

“You know, you didn’t have to do all this, Haz, but I really, really appreciate it. I love you so much, baby.”

 

Harry picks up on the teary inflection that Louis’ voice is carrying, and he’s incredibly relieved that his plans have been going well so far, even if it did take quite a bit of convincing to get his lazy boyfriend out of bed.

 

The large group is loud and intrusive in the way that family always seems to be, but both men enjoy the lunch party greatly, feeling incredibly blessed to have received so much support from every single person gathered around this table throughout the years.

 

Harry struggles to finish his dessert, as his nerves seem to increase exponentially after the waiter takes his main course plate away.

 

With his heart beating out of his chest and sweaty palms, Harry finally demands everyone’s attention, ignoring the tears already gathering in both his mother’s and Jay’s eyes.

 

( _Note to self: never tell them any secrets ever again, as they clearly lack the ability to control their emotions. Like, be cool for once, c’mon!)_

 

“I’d like to propose a toast to the beautiful man I’m lucky enough to call mine. We are all gathered around this table today because we’re so, so proud of what he’s achieved, and of the brave and talented man he has grown up to be. There’s not a single day that goes by that I’m not thankful for my mom’s friendship with Jay, as it has provided me with a second mother, another caring and supporting family, and, above all, the kindest and most supportive partner I could have ever dreamt of. To Louis!”

 

Harry looks at Louis to see him blushing, his eyes suspiciously shiny as he watches the people he loves most in the world raise their glasses in his honor. Harry’s not done yet, though.

 

“Lou, I never chose to have you in my life. Our mothers made that decision for us before we were even born, and even though I’ve literally known you my _entire_ life, I have yet to meet anyone as wonderful and caring as you. You never cease to amaze me, even after all this time. There’s nothing in this world that I’m surer of than the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me. You’re my past, present, and future.”

 

Harry gets down on one knee, his voice shaky and eyes brimming with tears as he asks, “Louis William Tomlinson, will you marry me?”

 

The way Louis literally trips over himself with enthusiasm, simultaneously trying to hug and kiss Harry, would probably be hilarious if the taller man wasn’t too busy bawling his eyes out.

 

In the end, the proposal is not quite like Harry had imagined it to be, certainly not as graceful or pretty as it could have been, especially considering the amount of snot covering both of their faces, but it’s loving, and romantic, and all kinds of lovely.

 

When Harry points out that Louis never actually said yes, the answer he gets is so faithful to his fiancé’s playful personality that Harry falls a bit more in love with him.

 

“I’ll marry you, Harry, because it rhymes.”

 


End file.
